Devoted
by V Tsuion
Summary: She loved him, she really did, and in a way she knew he loved her too. But sometimes, Mary Watson (nee Morstan) couldn't help but wonder if her husband didn't love someone else more. No action is without consequences, someone is always left worse off.
1. A Treasure Lost and a Treasure Gained

_"If your friend would be good enough to stop, he might be of inestimable service to me."_ Miss Mary Morstan said, holding up her gloved hand to detain Dr. John Watson.

She wasn't quite sure what had moved her to insist upon the doctor's presence, even when she reflected upon it years later. Was it merely that her mysterious benefactor had advised that she bring two friends and she was seeking safety in numbers? Or perhaps, had she, as she sometimes fancied, already had misgivings about the wild-eyed detective? Or perhaps she had already glimpsed some of the doctor's kind nature and already knew deep down that she wanted him by her side.

She never knew how their hands found each other in the dark, later that evening, as they waited for an answer at an unfamiliar door. She could feel his heart racing as her's was; with nerves and anticipation, but somehow she knew that she could rely on him and that he could rely on her. It was in that moment that she knew that the great fortune into which she had so suddenly come was no fortune at all.

_ooo_

_"The treasure is lost,"_ said Miss Morstan calmly and in her head, she bid it "Good riddance."

_"Thank God!"_ Dr. Watson exclaimed as soon as the words left her mouth. He spoke not malevolently, but honestly out of relief she fancied identical to her own.

_"Why do you say that?"_ she asked with a quick, questioning smile - she hoped she already knew the answer.

_"Because you are within my reach again,"_ he replied, taking her hand, _"Because I love you, Mary, as truly as ever a man loved a woman. Because this treasure, these riches sealed my lips. Now that they are gone I can tell you how I love you. That is why I said, 'Thank God.'"_

She could not help but smile as he pulled her to his side and why shouldn't she?

_"Then I say 'Thank God,' too,"_ she whispered.

That evening, he had to depart all too soon to help Mr. Holmes with the case, leaving her in the chair by the window with a foolish grin across her face as she stared off into the waning light. She was to be married, to a wonderful man, who she loved more than anything! Her life as it was supposed to be would finally begin...

* * *

The landlady met her at the door, "Miss Morstan, is it?" she remarked with a hint of apprehension.

Mary curtsied in reply, "You showed me in when I called upon Mr. Holmes."

"Of course, you're Dr. Watson's fiancée that I've heard so much about. I assume you're here to see him?" the landlady remarked as she led the way up the stairs.

Mary nodded, "John mentioned me to you?"

The landlady shook her head, "Mr. Holmes and he have been arguing about it for the past several days, heated arguments at that - a landlady overhears things. You ought to know what you're getting into." she explained sourly.

Mary frowned, what was that supposed to mean? Didn't the famed consulting detective have more pressing matters to deal with than his flatmate's fiancée? She didn't have time to ponder it as the door swung open and she was greeted by an even more dismal image than the first time she had been to the cluttered apartment - John would no doubt benefit from a woman's touch, as far as housekeeping went.

Stacks of boxes as tall as she was, obscured by heavy, dark smoke were all she could see.

"Mr. Holmes, how can you breathe with so much smoke in the air?" the landlady chided, her admonishment interrupted by hacking coughs.

Mary covered her mouth and nose with a gloved hand in an attempt to ease her breathing, but she could not help but cough as well.

There was no reply as the landlady scurried inside and hauled open a window. The detective finally made his presence known, unfolding himself from one of the chairs in front of the fireplace to help her. Then they set about fanning out the room with papers that had been thrown across the table, Mary stepped inside to help them. The air finally cleared and the landlady returned downstairs to tend her business, leaving Mary alone with Mr. Sherlock Holmes.

He stared down at her with piercing grey eyes, an expression of disdain etched across his face. She met his eyes defiantly and for a moment neither of them said a word. The tension mounted and the silence began to wear on her until she couldn't help but break it. He was looking at her as if she had committed some crime in coming to visit her fiancé. What problem did he have with it?

"If I may ask, what are all these boxes for?" she said, a very picture of politeness.

For an instant the detective's lips twitched into a malevolent grimace, replaced as soon as it had come by an expression of disdainful disinterest, "Dr. Watson is moving into the room on the main floor." he gestured towards a door in the far wall.

"What? Why?" she asked confused, what would necessitate a change in rooms - he would be moving out soon anyways.

He gave her a twisted, unkind smile, that sent a shiver of fear or repulsion - she knew not which - down her spine, "Queer, isn't it." he replied sardonically.

She glanced around the room, unsure what to say in reply. A long pause stretched out as she avoided his unblinking gaze. How John managed to live with the man... She was about to break the awkward silence with some inconsequential comment when the detective continued, his voice and expression completely returned to normal.

"I assume you are here to see my dear Dr. Watson?" he asked, a barely perceptible emphasis on the word "my."

She nodded, "Yes, John and I had plans to go-"

"Of course." Mr. Holmes cut her off dismissively and called upstairs, "Watson, you have a visitor!"

"Oh! My apologies," she heard John's familiar voice from upstairs, easing her nerves, "I lost track of time, I will be down in a moment, my dear!"

_ooo_

They sat upon a grassy field between groves of trees and beds of flowers in one of the many parks that interrupted the grey and brown of the city. They enjoyed a small picnic lunch, nibbling on tea sandwiches as they talked and enjoyed the scenery and each other's company.

"If I may ask," Mary said, interrupting a comfortable pause in the conversation, "It's somewhat of an unusual question-"

"Ask away." John replied with an easy smile, taking her hand in his.

"What are the boxes all over your living room for?"

His eyes narrowed then widened and for an instant he seemed taken aback. She was about to retract the question when he chuckled and explained, "I am just preparing to move out, I have my eye on a lovely house…"

Mary couldn't help but smile, "That makes a lot more sense than what Mr. Holmes said."

She was about to continue, but he interrupted, "What did Holmes say?" His expression was oddly intense.

"That you were moving into a room on the main floor," she explained, he gave her a look of confusion, "I didn't understand it either, I wonder what he would say that for..."

John shook his head, "I don't know" he said with a sigh.

She squeezed his hand comfortingly, "The landlady said you'd been arguing."

"We have," he turned to face her, "But don't worry about it, Holmes is... Holmes. He'll live, I hope…" he glanced down.

There was a long pause before she spoke, "How can such a kind, normal man like you be friends with…"

"Holmes," he finished her sentence, "I know, it seems insane, I think I'm mad for living with him sometimes," he chuckled, though his eyes did not leave the ground, "But sometimes he's extraordinary. He solves cases like the one that brought us together," - he squeezed her hand and glanced up at her for a moment - "Daily. He's not the nicest person, but he is a great man, and a good one. I don't know how it happened, but I guess a business like Holmes' makes for close friends…" John smiled wistfully.


	2. I Plight Thee My Troth

"I John Hamish Watson take thee Mary Morstan to my wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part, according to God's holy ordinance; and thereto I plight thee my troth." he held her right hand in his as he recited the vow.

They loosed hands.

She took his right hand with hers and recited, "I Mary Morstan take thee John Hamish Watson to my wedded husband, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love, cherish, and obey, till death us do part, according to God's holy ordinance; and thereto I give thee my troth."

The loosed hands once more. The minister handed John the ring and it slipped from his hand - to shake out all the evil spirits, as the superstition went. He quickly bent over to pick it up and placed it on the fourth finger of her left hand.

Holding the ring in place, he recited, "With this Ring I thee wed, and with all my worldly goods I thee endow: In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen."

Mary felt the ring on her finger, shiny and new against her skin, as John left it there. She could barely contain her joy, and why should she? She was married! She stared into her husband's eyes, her eyes gleaming. He met her gaze, calm and steady as ever, a small smile playing across his lips. He had been so nervous leading up to the wedding, it was a relief to finally see him happy and relaxed.

And why shouldn't he be? They were married! She could barely believe it, but it was true, and that made it all the more incredible! She fancied this was the happiest day of her life, and who knew, perhaps it was. At that moment, there was nothing that could have made her any less than ecstatic.

But even then, there was a twinge of doubt in the back of her mind, reminding her of Mr. Holmes…

The minister finished the blessing and she and John made their way down the aisle, arm in arm, under a shower of rice. She stared straight ahead, careful not to turn right or left as that would be in bad taste. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw John's head twitch away from her, as if he were trying to look behind him, but stopped himself in time.

_ooo_

Mrs. Forrester had been kind enough to lend them her home for the reception as Mary had none of her own. She and John stationed themselves in the specially decorated corner, set aside for receiving their guests and were swept away in the greetings and congratulations of everyone who had attended - it felt like all of London had come, though she would have sworn the guest list had not exceeded fifty.

As the stream of new arrivals thinned and their guests dispersed into the reception hall where they stood around talking, she noticed John begin to fidget. Mr. Holmes had yet to arrive. Some part of her was not surprised; the arguments had apparently not ceased as the wedding neared and she had heard that it was with much reluctance that he had agreed to be the first man. But kind, sweet John never once blamed Mr. Holmes for it. Mary had half a mind to speak to the detective herself, but she suspected that it would cause more harm than good, and she wouldn't know what to say to him regardless.

Mary squeezed her husband's hand in what she hoped was a reassuring manner, and spoke into his ear in a low whisper, "Don't worry about him," she said, "Don't let him ruin this day for you."

He gave her a small smile, "I won't. I just hope he's okay."

"And I hope you're okay."

They stood there some minutes longer, just in case another guest were to arrive, and finally Mr. Holmes appeared. Almost immediately she saw John break into a grin of relief. The tension that had been building all but vanished. Mr. Holmes gave a slight smile at the sight of the effect he had on her husband, but it did not last long.

He greeted Mary first, as was customary, but with a curt nod and a frown.

"At long last," John exclaimed, bustling with nervous excitement for the first time that morning, as Mr. Holmes turned to him, "I was worried you left without saying good bye!"

"It crossed my mind..." Mr. Holmes answered simply.

"Well I, for one, am glad you came."

John clasped his hand in an eager shake and for a moment they stood their, their eyes locked in a strange battle of wills.

Finally, they separated and Mr. Holmes forced out an uncertain, "Congratulations, my dear Watson." Mary was unsure if she had merely imagined a slight emphasis on the word, "my."

"Come, join the festivities." John said eagerly and Mr. Holmes consented, but he seemed less than pleased.

They all made their way through the crowd, wading through second and even third greetings and congratulations from their guests, as they approached the table at which the bridal party was already seated. John helped Mary into a seat next to Mrs. Forrester before sitting down beside her. Mr. Holmes took the open seat on his other side. When they were all seated, John served his wife and then himself. Mary began to eat, suddenly realizing just how hungry she had been.

Meanwhile, John turned to Mr. Holmes, "Holmes, have something to eat, relax, enjoy yourself perhaps..."

"I am not hungry." Mr. Holmes insisted, ignoring the rest, his expression set.

_ooo_

Breakfast soon ended with little time to eat and even less for conversation. They cut the cakes and soon the newlyweds left to change into clothes for the road - they would be leaving for the honeymoon from the reception. Mary was helped out of her wedding gown, into a sensible light blue dress, suited for travel. After a moment to herself, she stepped out into the hall to wait for John.

She heard raised voices emanating from the room across from hers. It was John and Mr. Holmes. She couldn't quite make out the words, though they got clearer as the conflict seemed to escalate and voices inside grew louder.

"I made my choice!" she heard John insist.

She approached the door in curiosity, "You made yours." John's voice dropped suddenly so she could only barely make out the words from right outside.

"This," she heard Mr. Holmes sneer in reply, "Was not my choice."

"I'm sorry Holmes, this conversation is over." John said, he then said something else, but it was too quiet for her to understand.

She barely had enough presence of mind to step out of the way before Mr. Holmes left the room, slamming the door behind him. She nearly jumped at the loud noise and her heart began to race as her mind filled with excuses. She quieted her raging thoughts as she watched Mr. Holmes pacing the corridor, pointedly ignoring her.

Finally she forced her mind into sufficient order to ask, "Why are you here - if you don't mind my asking? You obviously don't want to be and I suspect that you would be much happier if you didn't come. Why did you?" she did not speak rudely, but simply.

There was a long, thoughtful pause before he responded, almost too quiet for her to hear, "For John," and left.

* * *

The hotel room was dark. Mary lay upon the bed, her white nightgown splayed out around her, staring up at the ceiling. Her husband lay sleeping beside her, but as tired as she was, she could not join him. Her heart raced with the pure elation of the day. She was married! Her cheeks were still flushed with joy.

But deep down she knew that wasn't the only thing keeping her awake. A nagging doubt simmered in the back of her mind. What of Mr. Holmes? She could not deny that there was something amiss.

John loved her, he had married her, for goodness's sake! Was that not enough? But she already knew the answer; it couldn't be, could it? Her gut and everything she had ever been told said that it was wrong. But this was John she was talking about, her dear, beloved John, could she condemn him for something she did not even understand?

He was her husband; he had chosen to marry her, was that not enough?

She wanted to trust him, and why couldn't she? He had not given her any cause for distrust, he was a kind, honorable man, laws of man and God be damned, if it came to that! What did they have if not trust between them?

He had made his choice, and that was that. She ought to be happy that he had chosen her.


	3. Just a Case

Mary sat waiting in the dim light of a single lantern. A book lay open upon her lap, but she spent more time glancing up at the door than reading. John was out visiting a patient. He had said he would be back by nightfall, but the sun had set over two hours ago. She hopped he was alright, but that was all she could do.

Finally, she heard the front door creak open and his heavy footfall echoed through the halls as he approached. She threw herself to her feet. The book fell to the ground in front of her, but she ignored it in favor of her husband.

"John! There you are!" she exclaimed, throwing her arms around him as he entered the room, "I was getting worried!"

"My apologies," John said, holding her gently, "I passed the old Baker street flat on my way home and found that I owed Holmes a visit and then a client arrived, so it took longer than expected. If you don't mind, I promised to join him tomorrow morning to work on it with him…"

Mary looked up into his face, really examining his eager, hopeful expression. It couldn't hurt, could it? It was just a case; that was all. She trusted him.

"Of course I don't mind," she finally replied with a small smile, "Just be careful, I wouldn't want you getting hurt."

But it wasn't just a case, and she knew it.

* * *

"Good night." John said with a kiss to the top of her head, "Sleep well." and then he was off into the city night, leaving her to warm their marital bed.

_"I would love to stay for dinner, but Holmes and I are working on this case…"_

_"Good morning dear, I'm helping Holmes on a case, so I don't know when I'll be back…"_

_"I love you too. Now, I've got to go, else I'll be late for meeting Holmes."_

It was the seventh time that month and counting.

_"I'm sure you'll be fine alone tonight, Holmes just got another case and he wants me to be there…"_

"Of course Holmes wants you to be there," she wanted to reply bitterly, but she couldn't.

And it was "Holmes, Holmes, Holmes," John talked of nothing but the infernal detective in the few hours that he found himself at home! She could have sworn she heard more of Mr. Holmes than she saw of John. He talked of cases and deductions and even the little jokes they had shared by the fireplace, ad infinitum!

But when he did, it was always with that smile… Whenever Mr. Holmes' name was so much as mentioned, John couldn't help but smile. He would come home worn from exertion, but flushed with energy at the strangest hours, chattering of brilliance with a grin across his face.

And she couldn't help but wait up for him at those odd hours and listen to his exaltations. She couldn't help but smile too, smile and laugh, though deep down it stung bitterly that not even she, his own wife, could make him that happy; it was only Mr. Holmes who could do that.

But he was happy.

But only because of Mr. Holmes.

But he was happy.

But she wasn't.

* * *

"Enjoy the vacation, you deserve it." John said into Mary's ear as they embraced at the platform.

"I'm just visiting…" she corrected lightly.

"Well, don't forget to relax!" he insisted as she hurried off to catch the train.

"I love you!" she called out from a nearby window, "Don't miss me too much!"

He laughed and called back, "I'll try to survive until I pick you up at the station!"

"Good bye!" she shouted as the train pulled away from the station.

They waved until long after they were out of sight.

_ooo_

"My dearest Mary," the letter read, "I have been most preoccupied of late, else I would have written sooner. Our home has been very lonely without you and I find myself spending as little time as possible within. I hope you have been enjoying your stay and have been getting much needed rest. I eagerly await your return. With love," signed, "John H. Watson"

And that was the only letter she received in the few weeks she was away. Still, she read it each evening, even after she knew it by heart. As she sat on the train, homewards bound at last, she read it through again and again, clinging to every word in hopes that they would spur the train onwards, bringing her closer and closer to home with every word.

Finally the train rolled into the station and she joined the flood of passengers straining at the door that they suddenly found all too small. After much standing and avoiding being pushed or pushing into anyone else, a kind older man helped her out and she found herself on the open platform. She scanned the crowd back and forth in search of John, but found him to be absent.

Perhaps he had gotten the wrong time? Or if he had a patient, there wasn't anything he could do about that, could he? Not if someone needed him. But a nagging doubt in the back of her mind told her exactly where he was - exactly who "needed" her husband. But no, that wasn't fair! Maybe he was just running late. That was a perfectly reasonable explanation, wasn't it? Now, no need to jump to conclusions-

"Mrs. Watson?" it was a messenger boy.

"Yes? I am she." she replied.

"Your husband sent me to give you this-" he handed her the fee for a cab home, "And to tell you that he finds himself preoccupied, but will meet you at home."

How kind of him, she internally sneered, but at least he had sent the messenger…

_ooo_

She stepped inside, over the threshold John had first carried her over only months before to find the house silent. Her footsteps echoed against the floor long after the sound had ceased. The cabby carried in her trunk and left it upon the floor, leaving her to explore the dark house on her own.

As soon as he was gone, she called out, "John! John, are you home yet?"

No reply.

"Anyone?" she asked a little quieter as she peeked into the kitchen.

Even the servant girl appeared to be out.

She made her way around the house, under the pretense of putting away her luggage, and found it utterly empty.

_ooo_

John returned late that evening. Mary was sitting in the living room, working at her embroidery as the hours ticked away. She heard him enter, but pretended not to notice even as he approached.

"Mary! There you are!" he exclaimed, out of the corner of her eye, she could see the telltale grin across his face.

She barely glanced up from her work.

"I'm sorry for not picking you up," he said, though it sounded more like he was trying to explain than apologize. He eagerly continued, "Holmes had a case and by the time it was done it was too late, see-"

She stood as soon as he mentioned Mr. Holmes and was out of the room without a word before he could finish.

She lay upon their bed, staring up at the ceiling.

Earlier, she had been fuming, but by then she was just tired. Tired of Mr. Holmes and even more so, tired of herself. The only thing she wasn't tired of was John, and she hated herself all the more for it. But there wasn't anything she could do about that. She loved John, she could not deny it. And she also could not deny that Mr. Holmes made John happy in a way she could not and _that_ was what shook her to the core.

There was _nothing_ she could do, but let it happen.

That it was wrong, she had long since given up. No, it was personal, and that was all there was to it. She didn't know what happened on those visits and she didn't really care. All she cared about was the distance that had grown between them - the distance that Mr. Holmes had imposed upon them. They barely ever saw each other even though they theoretically shared the same room!

And she had just let it happen.

But it made John so happy. A restlessness she hadn't even known was there faded away when he saw Mr. Holmes. He seemed so much more relaxed, more at ease. But at the same time, to her he became distant and preoccupied. But he was so happy, happier than he had been at their wedding or on their honeymoon! All she could do was step back and let it happen.

All she had wanted was a normal, peaceful, happy life! With a kind, loving husband, who loved _her_! She wanted to do right by him, to tend the house and have his children and live out their days together. This was not what she had wanted! But she could not want anything else. She loved John, she couldn't imagine a life with anyone else. If only Mr. Holmes wasn't there, getting in the way…

But he made John so happy. And she didn't.

All she could do was weep at his happiness.

* * *

One morning, Mary sat at breakfast, nibbling at her eggs and toast as she contemplated her plans for the day. Perhaps she would visit Mrs. Forrester; that might help to take her mind off of things… She did not know what her husband's plans for the day were, but she didn't particularly want to know.

She was trying to redirect her mind from the thought when in walked John himself.

"Good morning." he remarked awkwardly, and sat down across from her.

There were so many things that Mary could have said, but perhaps because of them, she said nothing and made no move to acknowledge him.

He rang for the servant girl, who hurriedly brought him breakfast. They ate without a word. Several times, John opened his mouth as if he was about to speak, but to her relief and disappointment, he did not break the heavy silence.

She quickly finished eating and considered standing and going about her daily business, but something – a foolish hope in the back of her mind, perhaps – held her back. Instead she felt her hands begin to fidget with her fork and knife twirling them around- She clasped her hands together, entrapping her fingers between each other. But it was not long before her feet began to tap-

"Mary…" John began awkwardly, cutting through her absent thoughts.

She froze and glanced up at him, not trusting herself to speak. Instead, she merely gave him a skeptical, inquiring look that invited him to continue, though did not in the least promise to withhold judgment.

There was a long pause - Mary was inordinately proud that she held still the entire time - before he continued, "I… I was thinking- I don't have any work today and that perhaps- perhaps we could go for a walk, perhaps have a picnic lunch…" he rambled.

"What about Mr. Holmes?" she said before she could stop herself.

John seemed taken aback and she was about to apologize when she stopped herself. She loved John and she would do anything for him, but _she_ had done nothing wrong.

There was another long pause, as tension buzzed around them, before he spoke once more, "Mary, I-" he cut himself off, unsure what to say.

There was a long silence as neither dared to speak.

"Never mind," she finally recanted, breaking the silence, "I'm sorry, I don't know what came over me. A picnic sounds great." she gave him a small, weak smile.


	4. A Great Affection

Mary had been hearing a lot less of Mr. Holmes lately and seeing a lot more of John, but still it felt like a precarious position, like it was too good to last…

"What is it?" John inquired from across the breakfast table, referring to her worried expression and the letter she held in her hands.

She glanced up at him, searching his blue eyes. There had been a bit of hesitation to his tone, but he spoke warmly and wore a tender, concerned expression. There she was, doubting him again, testing his love for her! Couldn't she just let it be? Couldn't she just accept that he loved her? He had stopped seeing Mr. Holmes for her, for goodness' sake! She wondered how often the detective crossed his mind- No! Couldn't she just be satisfied with her present good fortune?

"It's just an invitation," she explained reluctantly, with a slight reassuring smile - though who she was reassuring, she did not know - "A few friends of mine would like me to join them at their new home in the countryside."

"You don't want to go?" he asked.

She shook her head, "It would be nice, but…" she trailed off, unsure what to say.

He took her hand in his, "I'll be fine. I promise."

"You're… sure…?"

He nodded understandingly, "I'm sure. Enjoy yourself. I'll come to pick you up at the station when you return. I promise." he gave her a small smile that she managed to return.

_ooo_

"Have a safe trip!" John called after her as she boarded the train, and she was off.

* * *

At the end of the visit, Mary was glad to be returning home. She had enjoyed her time away, but she wanted to see John again, and could not help but wonder how her dear husband was spending his time in her absence. She half hoped that John had gone to see Mr. Holmes - they both knew he would be happier for it. But at the same time, she dreaded it, she dreaded her dear John forgetting her in favor of the detective.

And so, she returned home full of nerves and questions that she was not sure she wanted to ask for fear of their answers. But she could not avoid them. The train rolled up to the station all too soon, yet hardly soon enough, and she deliberately made her way out, onto the platform. She carefully scanned the crowd, examining every face for a sign of the familiar. She even noticed each of the messenger boys, in case John had sent one for her.

Not a chance.

Where could John be? He had promised to meet her on the platform. He could be visiting a patient, if there was an emergency he wouldn't have much of a choice. But Mary didn't believe that, not for an instant. Chances were, he was out working on a case with Mr. Holmes and he had even forgotten to send a messenger boy. And she had thought things were going so well. Maybe he would come for her, maybe he was just running late…

She sat down to wait.

An hour later, she gave up. He wasn't coming to get her, she might as well just return home and meet him there.

A short cab ride later and she entered their all too quiet house. The cabby followed her inside, leaving her trunk on the floor, and then she was left in silence. She did not bother to call out as she set about returning her belongings to their proper places. But as she made her way past the study she heard a faint sound coming from inside.

She opened the door to find John there, his head down on the table, his body shaking. A wrinkled sheet of paper was in his hand. He looked terrible.

"John!" she exclaimed, her anger gone, replaced with concern, "Are you alright?"

He did not reply.

She dropped everything she had been carrying and swept to his side. His hair was matted and his clothes appeared not to have been cleaned in days. All in all, he was a sight to behold.

She gingerly wrapped an arm around his shoulder and spoke softly into his ear in an attempt to rouse him, "John…" she said.

A convulsive shudder ran down his body, but he did not move.

She would have let him stay there and sleep it off, but there was something amiss. If she were stronger, she would have carried him to bed and let him rest, as he obviously needed the sleep, but she doubted that she could support him, let alone carry him. She was sure Mr. Holmes could have… But thank god Mr. Holmes was not there. No, she could care for her husband on her own.

With that she gently lifted him until he weighed upon her shoulders. A stream of disconcerted, obviously upset mumbles flooded from his mouth, but she could not make out a word. She carefully walked him to their bedroom and lay him out upon their bed, before sitting down beside him. She stretched out her aching shoulders and took a moment to assess the situation.

It would be best not to leave him alone for the time being, not in this state. The entire afternoon and late into the evening, she sat watch over him, alternating between reading, embroidery, and simply observing him. She could not help but wonder what had happened and what it had to do with Mr. Holmes.

_ooo_

"Holmes!" she heard John croak in anguish, shoving her into awareness - she must have dozed off.

He lay upon the bed, staring up at the ceiling, his gaze transfixed upon a spot above him. He had stopped tossing and turning as he had been earlier, and was now frozen in place.

"John!" she exclaimed, "Are you alright? What happened?"

He turned to face her, for a moment he seemed confused, as if bewildered by her presence. Suddenly he spoke, his voice was still rough, but the words poured out, tumbling all over each other, "Holmes! He's- he's dead! I should have- He- he fell at Reichenbach! It was Moriarty! He sacrificed himself to kill him and now he's dead! And I should have been there- I should have saved him, but I left and now he's dead!"

"John!" Mary pleaded, finally breaking through his monologue. She took his hand in her's, "John, it's okay. You're alright, you're safe here… I- I'm here for you..."

"You don't understand!" he exclaimed, pushing her hand aside, "Holmes is dead!" he shoved himself into a sitting position. His expression was one of utter despair.

Either it had been a very vivid dream, or it was true. But this was not the time for an explanation. It didn't matter if it was real or not. What mattered now was that John was okay, and by god he had to be okay.

She wrapped her arms around him and held tight, "It'll be alright, I promise, it'll be alright…"

_ooo_

The next morning, Mary awoke from a strange, half slumber to find John sleeping restlessly beside her. The curtains had either already been opened, or no one had closed them in the evening. Either way, it had the same effect; the bright light of the midmorning sun flooded into the room, giving it a warm, cheery glow. But the sight of her husband, so tired and worn, dampened the contentment that came from a clear day.

She was reluctant to leave him, but there were things that needed taking care of, especially as he was in no condition to manage anything. So she carefully removed herself from their bed and changed into fresh clothes, before stepping out.

To her surprise, she found a large, round man, dressed in a soft woolen mourning suit, sitting patiently upon their living room couch, staring off into space in what appeared to be a state of deep abstraction.

"Almost as quiet as the Diogenes Club, not quite, but it sufficed as long as it needed to." he remarked, apparently more to himself than her, as he didn't even glance away from the spot on the wall he had been focusing on. She gave him an inquiring look and was about to speak when he turned to her and explained, "Mycroft Holmes, brother to the late Sherlock Holmes. Mrs. Watson, I presume?" he finished with a half-bow, though he did not stand

She nodded reluctantly and curtsied.

"I take it you are aware of my dear brother's untimely demise." he asked, though it was more of a statement than a question.

She nodded again, "John- Dr. Watson told me," she explained, "Do you know what happened? I must say, he's in a right state."

Mr. Holmes the older nodded, "I assumed as much. I've taken the liberty of preparing the funeral. There's no body, so there won't be any dealing with that, but he'll have a proper burial nonetheless. There will be a large attendance and I expect Dr. Watson will be there."

"Th-Thank you...?" she replied so taken aback by the mater-of-fact way that Mr. Holmes spoke about the matter that she barely noticed that he had neglected to answer her question.

What was he doing, organizing his own brother's funeral? Friends were supposed to do the work, to let the family rest, but Mr. Holmes the elder seemed to be having none of it.

* * *

On the appointed day, a carriage met them outside and took them to the church where the funeral would be taking place. It was the first time in days that either of them left the house. The young couple made a dismal pair. John sat stony faced in a black suit, black gloves and a necktie, with deep weeds upon his hat. Mary sat beside him in black. She held his hand as neither said a word, or even exchanged a glance between them. John stared off into nothingness as she barely took her concerned eyes off of him.

Upon their arrival, they were escorted back into a room adjoining the sanctuary, where Mr. Mycroft Holmes sat talking quietly with the priest - no doubt making last minute arrangements - beside a closed casket that she knew to be empty.

"Dr. and Mrs. Watson, there you are," Mr. Holmes remarked upon their arrival, glancing up from his conversation, "Not a moment too soon."

This time he stood to greet them. Mary curtsied, but John merely gave a dazed nod.

"Father Pine." Mr. Holmes gestured towards the clergyman.

Mary curtsied again before taking her husband's arm.

"May God be with you." Father Pine said, primarily to John, "I am aware you were very close friends with the deceased?"

John nodded, "I shared a flat with Holmes for sev-several years," he said, his voice rough and almost too quiet to be heard, "I-I worked with him during that time."

"And he was a consulting detective, you said?" he asked with a glance at Mr. Holmes.

Mr. Holmes nodded in reply.

"I have heard he was a good man, may God judge him worthy." Father Pine said with a bow.

At that, John cracked a small, almost ironic smile, but it vanished too soon for her to examine the strange expression.

"I must go to take care of the preparations, if you will excuse me." Father Pine left with another bow.

As soon as he was gone, Mr. Holmes turned to John, "You will be staying in here with me."

John nodded and he seated himself by the head of the empty casket, next to Mr. Holmes, who served as the closest of kin. Mary sat beside him and squeezed his hand comfortingly. The benches surrounding the casket were empty hold for them-

"There shouldn't be anyone else joining us." Mr. Holmes remarked to her.

"How did you-" Mary began.

"Deduction." John explained automatically, without glancing away from the casket.

"Quite right." Mr. Holmes explained, "One could say I have a penchant for observation, as my brother did, but perhaps less practical." he glanced at John who merely nodded.

"He was so brilliant…" John whispered, his voice so quiet it was nearly inaudible, "... all of London, if not the world, will suffer for his loss…"

"That they will." Mr. Holmes the older replied simply, "He had a great affection for you, you know."

John nodded, "I-I know." he breathed and buried his face in his hands as he began to cry.

Mary wrapped a comforting arm around him.


	5. With a Vengeance

Mr. Holmes had returned with a vengeance. As far as Mary had gathered, his body was somewhere in the Reichenbach Falls in Switzerland, but as far as she was concerned, he was more present than ever. Almost two years later and the household would still be in mourning had Mary not finally insisted that enough was enough after a year and a half. But just because she had donned lighter dresses did not mean that the solemn air of mourning had lifted.

At first they had many visitors; two inspectors of the Yard, a few of John's brothers in arms, and several of her friends had come to pay their respects and lend a few comforting words. Mr. Holmes the elder often visited - Mary often wondered why he was not receiving guests at his own home, but he never answered most questions.

That all soon ended and they were left to resume life as usual. John returned to his practice with renewed fervor, taking so many patients that Mary feared he wouldn't be able to handle them all. And when he wasn't working, he was writing. At that moment, as Mary sat in the living room sewing, for something to do with her hands as she thought, John was locked away in his study no doubt bent over a manuscript. He had published 12 stories in 11 months and was still going at it relentlessly-

A sharp pain ran through her finger as the needle pricked it. She pulled the finger away away to find it wounded, but not bleeding. She let out a sigh. She should know better than to sew while she was so distracted. As she wasn't going to be any less distracted any time soon, she put aside the cloth, needle, and thread. Perhaps she could entice John into taking a walk; staying cooped up all day would do him no good.

With that in mind, she knocked once at the study door and made to enter. She found her husband sitting at the desk, his head in his hands as he stared down at a half-written manuscript. He looked up suddenly upon her arrival, as if startled, but belatedly so.

"John, are you alright?" she asked as she carefully approached him.

After a moment's hesitation, he nodded, "I'm alright…"

She took his hand in her's, "Come, you spend too much time cooped up in here, it can't be healthy. Let's get some fresh air, go for a promenade, perhaps?"

He shook his head, "I can't, I have to finish writing-" he withdrew his hand, but she reclaimed it.

"You know as well as I that you can't stay buried in the past forever, come, live! John, I'm worried for you-"

"I get out when I call upon my patients."

She sighed and let his hand drop with a wistful little smile, "I understand. I'm sorry for disturbing your work. Still, I would be honored if you'd be willing to join me for dinner." she joked, smiling a little wider, and gave him a mock curtsy as she left.

She glanced back to see him watching her go, with a slight smile across his face, though it soon faded away as he returned to his writing.

* * *

It was a beautiful morning. The sun was shining, puffy white clouds floated lazily across the bright blue sky. There was a brisk breeze keeping the smog away, but it was not too cold to be comfortable. All in all, it was a perfect day to spend outside, perhaps to go for a picnic. But when Mary awoke, John was on the way out to visit a patient. It was a shame, but work was work and it was good to see him moving on with his life.

He had left a note upon his pillow that read, "Dearest Mary, old man Jenkins is feeling ill and so it appears I must pay him a visit, but I hope to be home by mid day and would be honored if you would join me on a promenade. With love," signed, "John H. Watson"

She could not help but grin at the prospect. It appeared John was feeling better, perhaps it was the weather, or perhaps time had just done its work, but either way, she felt a weight fall from her shoulders as she set about preparing for the day.

As long as she had plans for the afternoon, she decided she might as well pay a visit to whomever had just moved into the formerly empty flat across the street. She had yet to see their new neighbor, just several carriages that had come to the typically silent building.

But when she knocked at the door, it swung open to reveal a large empty chamber hold for a large cushion by the far window. The window itself was open and from it she could see into their own living room.

"Excuse me…" it was the landlord.

She spun around to face him, "Oh! I'm sorry! I thought someone had moved in here and I had come to welcome them, but when I knocked the door opened. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have been snooping around..."

"It's quite alright." the landlord cut her off, "There is a man who's interested in the place, Mr. Holmes, he said his name was. I thought you were him; he's been around a lot."

That was quite the coincidence, but Holmes wasn't that uncommon of a last name, when she thought about it. She just typically heard the name in terms of the famous detective because of her husband.

Still, she couldn't help but ask, "What sort of a man is he?"

The landlord shrugged, "He seems to be a fairly average sort. He's a quiet man, fairly non-descript in appearance, but very interested in the flat. He'd make a fine neighbor."

Mary nodded. That had told her a lot of nothing, but she was asking after a dead man, so it couldn't have been him. "I'm sorry to have disturbed you like that."

"Not a problem. How's Dr. Watson doing?"

"Better, thank you." she said with a smile, "You and the missus should come around for dinner, visitors would be much appreciated."

"We should be able to arrange that." he replied.

"Good day."

"Good day to you too, Mrs. Watson."

And with that she curtsied and left.

_ooo_

Mary and John returned home from the walk as the sun set in a brilliant array of deep reds, and purples, and oranges all cross the sky. They both wore wide smiles and the sound of laughter echoed around them. For the time being at least, things were looking up.

They talked avidly, for the first time in months. Every so often, John would glance down, his expression serious as he remembered something. Or a small sad smile would flit across his face. But Mary would give him a reassuring gesture and soon enough the conversation would resume. They sat down to an early supper before heading to the living room. John reclined upon the couch as Mary sat beside him, her hand in his.

"... and it's not even that late." Mary remarked with an instinctive glance outside.

Across the way she could see the upstairs window of the empty flat. She did a double take. There was a figure up there, a man laying upon the ground looking down at them. He was pointing something in their direction. In the corner of her eye, she saw John follow her gaze and tense up.

"John! Get down!" she exclaimed, pushing in front of him.

She heard the crash of a pane of glass shattering. A searing pain tore through her and she fell limply to the ground.


End file.
